


Reminders

by LunaUlric



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive
Genre: A little angst, After Story, Alternate Universe, Cagefighter AU, F/M, Flashback, Prison AU, fic request, karygurl, lunyx, otp: the princess and the glaive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaUlric/pseuds/LunaUlric
Summary: Prison AU/Cagefighter AU; Ex-convict Nyx and Therapist LunaLuna lives a quiet life with Nyx, her husband. Though the past remains in the past, there are things that continue to remind Nyx of what he was.------**This is a requested fic on tumblr**karygurlasked: If there are still request slots open and if you're feeling it, the cage fighter AU I've seen your art of seems really interesting to me! I'd love any kind of drabble relating to it but I'm especially interested in the LuNyx dynamic in it. Thanks!





	Reminders

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t actually expect someone to request that AU but I’m happy to have to do it. Me and [@fabulanova-ffxv](http://fabulanova-ffxv.tumblr.com) v labeled the cage fighter AU as Prison AU because at the time when we were discussing it, we were kinda inspired by the Prison Break TV series. But it evolved into something different. The prison element is still there but there were a lot details in it that differ entirely. 
> 
> As for the LuNyx dynamic, it’s more pronounced or in the spotlight in the aftermath of the prison story. Hence, this fic.
> 
> In case the others are curious, here are the art sketches I did for this AU (also the visual of what the ‘hood’ looks like): [1](http://annaoi.tumblr.com/post/161884507648/a-quick-concept-art-of-nyx-in-an-au-that-ill-let),  
> [2](http://annaoi.tumblr.com/post/162544370868/nyx-from-that-au-again)

Luna didn’t have to call both of them by name. Even while she was just starting to prepare the meals in their designated bowls, Umbra and Pryna already scampered across the wooden floors and onto the tiled surface with the tiny taps of their paws. Wagging tails and perked up ears waited eagerly and the blonde considered taking a picture of the adorable sight of her two dogs - her babies - smiling with tongues out. But maybe later, she concluded. They have a ton of photos looking like this already. **  
**

But every so often, as they wait for their master to finish mixing the scrumptious meal, they do something different and familiar at the same time. The dogs’ heads swivel to a different direction as if there was something in need of their utmost attention, even with the great smelling food was just feet away. They stop their happy wags when they do it and even make the faint whines. Luna had an idea as to why their attention was divided and she was left to wonder how her dogs knew.

Could they smell it? Could they somehow hear the difference in his breathing? She wasn’t an animal expert and could only guess how, but, more importantly, she was grateful that these creatures could tell her of things internal.

As expected, the dogs slowly followed the silent call for help. She followed them to the other room where Nyx, her husband, was resting from a day of work.

Soon, Umbra and Pryna rushed to a peculiar picture: Nyx, sitting on the edge of the mattress, head down staring steadily at the fabric clutched in his hand. His shadowy silhouette went against the light from the windows, gloomy and stoic, inviting the dark clouds over him. His eyes seemed deep and haunted by an old recollection. His other hand held onto the edge of the mattress like he was on a desperate balancing act. The dogs circled him protectively, whining with their whistle-like begging. They jumped in and out of the bed, nudging their noses at the crook of his neck. At least, he blinked a few times when they did that. And when he was still relatively zoned out and tense, they slobber him with their slimy kisses, causing him to wake up from his paralysis and wiping off the dog saliva from his face.

He smiled at them but barely. There was still a bit of the shadows in his eyes.

The dogs seemed satisfied, wagging their tails and now nudging his hand for a play, but the wife still minded her concern and approached. He saw her and seemed to try to bring back the happier features on his face, but the cover-up was futile. She didn’t hesitate to sit next to him and noticed the familiar fabric paint on the item of clothing he held.

“I thought you already threw that away.” she said as her hand gently crept up to his back and started rubbing away the tension.

He sighed, a bit shakily, and spread out the clothing he held in his hands. “I thought I did too. But it’s still in my stuff somehow.”

“Maybe you forgot to.” Luna replied, scooting closer.

“Yeah…” he muttered, welcoming her warmth. “…Maybe.”

His hand still held it. A hoodie. An old garb that he used to paint his identity with. The distinct mask-like design on the hood itself had faded over the years but there were other things that remain noticeable: Knife cuts, cigarette burns, minuscule blood stains, pulled threads. All shreds of evidence of his old life as a glaive.

The hood symbolized a status within a notorious gang in Insomnia’s immigrant district. It meant bad company, criminal records, theft, brutal fights, murder, and maybe even worse than the things she knew.  Luna got to these people during her stint as a therapist at the West Wall Penitentiary and tried to help those who were assigned to her care - usually the inmates who proved too problematic when grouped among others. Behind the tattoos and the attempts to intimidate, they held tiny unintentional ticks that usually gravitate to a past they refuse to revisit. Words were hard to come by so they told the stories with how they see the monsters on inkblots and how they grow silent when a word or a thing was mentioned. All of the cases she handled were a slow process of forgiveness and rehabilitation.

For Nyx, it was no different. He wore the hood and got more than he bargained for.

As an inmate, he had trouble keeping himself from the fights and was sent to her care when the warden realized that solitary confinement didn’t solve the problem. He resisted the sessions, as expected, but she witnessed how he eventually grew accepting of the help and the better future that this chance offered. It was a success story despite the lasting effects of his past.

She and he remained friends even when they went weren’t obliged to hold sessions anymore - him being granted parole and her moving on to a different clinic. After a while of just the rare emails and calls, they crossed paths again when her car broke down in the middle of the road. The nearest car repair shop was a garage he owned. He was better now. No more anger in his eyes. No more dark clouds, well, for the most part.

The past crept up from time to time in their quiet life together. Sometimes in intrusive memories, sometimes in things that remind him of what he left behind. Either way, it made his whole body rigid with the internal terror.

Both of his hands held the hood now by its collar, tightening the grip, on the verge of ripping the whole thing apart. Her hand slid from his back into his arm making him loosen the hold to some extent. The dogs react too - Umbra nudging on the leg and Pryna jumping on the bed again and pushing her nose under the arm.

Nyx let loose a shaky breath before letting the hoodie drop on the floor. Luna put an arm around him and he reciprocated with resting his head on top of her. His hands, now free, stroked the dogs’ fur.

.

.

.

Later that evening, they went across the street from their apartment building. The old hood was placed in a bucket. She gave him the matches and he struck it to make a flame. And he let it fall into the bucket. The fabric began to burn and the flame eventually grew brilliant, consuming every infliction it recorded. They both stood watching. She embraced his middle and his arm encircled her.  

And slowly, the dark clouds started to fade. Slowly but not surely, he thought. But she was here with him, holding him, reminding him of what he was now. He found peace in that.


End file.
